


swear to be overdramatic and true

by lesbeauan



Series: tumblr kiss prompts TWO! [1]
Category: Runaways (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Robin Hood AU, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 04:00:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20482502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbeauan/pseuds/lesbeauan
Summary: gertchase + 17. needing to hide from bad guystitle lover/taylor swift





	swear to be overdramatic and true

Gert has her skirt clutched to her knees, an otherwise scandalous thing that she would be abashed to do in front of the young man on her heels, but given the circumstances, she barely even notices. The mud on her boots is slick, and she almost slips on the mossy roots of the trees surrounding them—Chase grabs her by the waist as she yelps with her ankle twisting in imbalance, pulling her along with him.

_ Oh,  _ she thinks, her cheeks flushed from running, is what she tells herself. From running. Not his strong hands guiding her forward as she has to carry on her pace, though with a slight limp.

This is not allowed.

Neither is the purse filled with riches that she clutches tightly with her other hand folded in her skirts—hence the reason they even have to run in the first place. There are shouts behind them, men with swords and arrows looking for the two rebels with maybe a five-minute headstart on them. Gert can hear horses’ hooves—great, the sheriff is on them, too.

“Miss Gertrude—” Chase pants, and she can’t help but turn a deeper shade of scarlet at his impeccable manners, even in this situation. “I’m afraid I’m not sure where to take us next—the forest is getting dark, and I don’t know how we can come away from this with our heads.”

“Onward, then,” Gert decides quickly. They can’t risk the guard finding Karolina and Nico and the others—it would destroy everything they’ve worked for. It would break her oath to protect Molly. “Nottingham is but a skip further.”

Chase nods, his breathing ragged—the only thing saving Gert from his chest heaving and glistening next to her ear is her modesty. 

Her ankle is becoming bothersome—but anything for the gold, anything for the rush, anything for the moment of being tucked into Chase’s side as they giddily flee the scene of their crime. 

The shouts behind them are growing louder, though, and Gert’s concern that they’re going to be caught is steadily increasing—her heart in her throat, Gert drops her skirt with her free hand, letting the mud-soaked fabric drop to her ankles once more, and puts two fingers two her mouth, whistling loudly and clearly, a bell tolling across Sherwood Forest.

“Miss Gertrude!” Chase whispers so loudly it might as well not be a whisper, “I  _ implore  _ you—”

His begging is cut off by a thundering of hooves close by— _ Thank the Virgin above,  _ Gert thinks—the undergrowth shaking and rustling somewhere to Gert’s right. Chase looks bewildered since clearly he’s never seen this little trick of Gert’s; a dappled roan mare with wiry legs for running bursts from the brush, and Old Lace sweeps in front of the pair, whinnying urgently. 

“Good girl,” Gert says, conscious of the clamor behind them—the men aren’t far, and they definitely heard Gert’s summons. She turns to Chase. “Need a hand?” 

Chase’s mouth hangs agape, and Gert wants to kiss his ridiculously perfect mouth shut—but she bites down the impulse and grabs her horse’s harness, swinging a leg up onto her bare back and reaching a hand down to lift Chase up. 

He still seems stunned, but accepts the hand up, settling onto Lace’s back and wrapping his arms around Gert’s waist. She struggles to contain her grin, banishing the immodest thoughts that plague her instantly, though still allowing a small, wry smile to trace her lips. 

“Come on Lace,” Gert urges. “Away.”

Huffing, Old Lace picks back up into a fast canter, her hooves light but steady on the uneven and barely-existent paths through the forest. Gert lucked out on this steed, finding her injured and abandoned years ago. With a few short weeks of nursing, Old Lace proved wiry and reliable, and with a few more months of dedication, she now had a perfectly trained mount that would heel and come at her call. She’s made a perfect getaway from much closer calls than this.

Chase’s voice sounds in Gert’s ear, “She’s amazing.”

“She is,” Gert agrees. “Saved me many a tumble with the Sheriff, tha’s for certain.”

“So you’ve met before?” 

Gert’s lips twist into a breathless grin. “O’course. There’s just so much gold for the taking, and so many mouths to feed.”

“In Nottingham?”

“And Yorkshire. And a couple at home, too.”

“Where is ‘home?’” 

Gert’s lips purse—she’s only just met this man, despite how charmed she is by his boyish smile and mischevious look in his eye. 

“Around.”

“Around? Miss Lady Gertrude, surely you must have a home somewhere.” 

“My home is here!” Gert shouts giddily into the wind. “On a horse’s back. On the run!”

Nottingham’s spires quickly come into view—the church bell is sounding for the evening Mass, and the people of the village are flocking to the cathedral for worship. Gert brings Lace to a halt outside of the barn, hopping off as quickly as she hopped on. Chase tumbles to the ground beside her, but Gert barely has time to giggle—the Sheriff’s horses are quickly enclosing on them. 

“Quick, ser,” Gert chastens him. “We mustn’t let them find us. In here!” She pulls him behind the barn, breathing ragged and squeezing her eyes shut as she hears the shouts of men entering the town.

The side of the barn where they are is not immediately open to the town square, but with dawning horror, Gert realizes that they’ll be found any second—the Sheriff of Nottingham himself, with his burly mustache and imposing black horse, is walking slowly towards them.

Chase whispers to her, “Madam, we’re going to be caught.”

“Silence, ser Steinson. I’m thinking.”

“With all due respect, Miss, I think you need to think faster.”

_ Clip, clop.  _ Closer.

Gert’s heart in her throat, she stuffs the coin purse down the front of her dress, barely even considering Chase’s ears turning red beside her as she does so, and quickly, turning to face him, grabs him by the chin and presses her lips to his with little ceremony at all.

His lips are so soft, she notices with surprise. She enjoys this. She doesn’t want it to end.

She holds the kiss one, two, three seconds before—

“I say!” The Sheriff exclaims in a gruff voice, his horse’s hooves clattering as he comes to a halt. “Don’t you children have better things to do than practice the devil’s pastimes on the Lord’s day? Off with you! I’d find Father Brennigan if I were you, and confess your sins this instant. Off with you!” 

The Sheriff motions for them to move along, and Gert flushes a very real blush that is unrelated to the boy next to her with rumpled hair and dimples and a perfect mouth, and curtsies the best she can. 

“My apologies, ser! It won’t happen again.”

“I daresay it won’t. Begone from me, children, I’m on a mission.”

And with that, the Sheriff’s horse spins on its heels, and he clatters off the same way he came.

“Miss—Miss Gertrude,” Chase stammers, and she can count the freckles on his cheeks from how close they are. 

“My apologies, ser.”

“Your mind is brilliant, Miss Yorkesdotter. I could only wish I was half as clever.” 

“Someday you may find yourself with a greater wit than mine,” Gert says with a sly smile. “But until that day, I bid you good morrow—and some coin, for your trouble to-day.”

Gert tosses him a strand of pearls from the pouch in her breast, trying hard to avoid his flushed face and look of awe in his brown eyes.

“Miss—Miss, will I see you again?”

Gert stops her mounting of Lace again to look at the boy imploring her to stay, and for a moment, she actually thinks she might. He is so pretty, and she knows she already loves him dearly. 

But it would be a fool’s errand to pretend she could ever live as a serf’s wife, so she shakes her head slightly. 

“Lord willing,” she says, and hoists herself onto Old Lace’s back.

“Lord willing,” Chase Steinson repeats, and Gert desperately wants to beg one more kiss off of him, to hold to her chest like a locket. But it is foolish. 

So without another word, she digs her heels into Lace’s side, and rides away from the boy whose kiss she stole. 


End file.
